


Ragnar’s Brewery

by Myriath



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bars and Pubs, Bartenders, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Probably romance, brewery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28573980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myriath/pseuds/Myriath
Summary: Eivor recently moved to the city of Mercia to found a start-up. To save costs, he has moved in with his brother and his brother’s girlfriend, temporarily, according to him.Of course, Sigurd can’t resist interfering in his brother’s life and soon Eivor finds himself in a brewery run by the Ragnarsson brothers. What starts as a weird evening quickly seems to turn out promising for Eivor.---A modern AU for Assassin’s Creed Valhalla. I think a pub is really a fitting setting for these guys.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Poisonous meatballs

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Jenn and Otto. Without your remarkable teamwork, I would never have started writing this.  
> You are the best.

Eivor cursed under his breath and tried to wipe his mobile phone dry on his trousers so that he would be able to see the map on the display better. Somewhere nearby had to be that darned brewery Sigurd had ordered him to go to. He had walked around the block for the third time now, but he hadn’t found the building. Frustrated, he leaned against a wall and tried again to dry the device on his now soaked trousers, when suddenly the phone rang.  
‘Where are you?’ yelled Sigurd before Eivor could even manage a “hello”.  
‘You gave me the wrong address, brother,’ Eivor replied back. ‘There is no brewery here.’  
He hunched his shoulders as cold raindrops dripped down his neck from a shop canopy. He hated the big city more with every passing moment.  
‘Do you use Maps?’ asked Sigurd, and Eivor rolled his eyes. What else, then? A printed map of the city? Sometimes he really wondered what was going on in his brother’s head.  
‘The location is shown wrong,’ Sigurd continued, ‘You have to go to the side alley, opposite that underwear shop.’  
‘And you’re telling me this now?’ returned Eivor, as more drops fell down his neck.  
Without saying goodbye, he hung up and put the mobile phone in his pocket before searching for the side alley his idiot brother had described.

‘There you are!’ Sigurd exclaimed and stood up to hug Eivor in greeting. At the last moment he backed away and asked, ‘Why are you so wet, brother?’  
Eivor threw his shoulder bag on the corner bench and sat down.  
‘Someone made me search the whole neighbourhood instead of giving me the right address.’ He grabbed one of the two menus already on the table.  
Sigurd sat back in his seat. ‘And that makes you so wet?’ He took a sip of his beer and pulled out his mobile phone.  
Eivor rolled his eyes before hitting Sigurd over the head with the menu.  
‘It’s raining, you moron!’ he retorted, flicking the menu open again.  
Indecisively, he flipped back and forth between the four pages. The selection was clear, but every dish sounded tempting. Hearty home cooking, there was nothing better with a cold beer, if you asked Eivor.  
A few minutes later, Eivor flinched as a beer mat was slammed down on the table in front of him with a loud clap, and a glass of beer soon appeared on top. The waiter - a dangerous-looking man with his hair shaved off on one side and a prominent scar running down his face - was replacing Sigurd’s empty glass with a full one when he suddenly looked at Eivor.  
‘What is it?’ he grunted, drawing two lines on Eivor’s beer mat with a pencil.  
‘Can we order?’ asked Eivor politely. Normally he was not afraid of anything, but he preferred not to mess with this guy. He didn’t want to be found stabbed in an abandoned underground car park. He wouldn’t put it past this guy.  
The waiter shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t know if you can?’  
Eivor groaned in annoyance and corrected himself emphatically slowly. ‘I’d like to order.’  
Again the waiter shrugged before turning towards the counter.  
‘Haaalfdaaan!!!’ he bellowed throughout the brewery. ‘The drowned rat and the redhead are hungry!’  
‘Then take the order!’ came back just as loudly.  
‘“Then take the order!”’ the waiter mimicked, tilting his head as he looked Eivor in the eye. ‘Who does he think I am?’  
‘The waiter?’ suggested Eivor, undecided whether to be annoyed or amused.  
For the umpteenth time, the waiter rolled his eyes.  
‘I’m the one who brings the beer. My brother can do the fucking food orders if it’s so important to him that this is a “real brewhouse”.’ With his fingers, the waiter gestured quotation marks, nearly dropping the beer wreath as he did so. ‘If it was up to me, this would be a pub. With a dartboard, a skittle alley and, for all I care, meatballs with mustard. Where the floor sticks and the men piss beside the toilet.’  
He shook his head as he turned and left the table, yelling his brother’s name again.

Eivor looked at his brother sceptically.  
‘Are you sure this is where we wanted to go?’ he asked.  
But Sigurd only grinned.  
Out of the corner of his eye, Eivor saw a tall man, presumably said Halfdan, coming towards them with a tea towel and a dripping glass in his hand. His long, shaggy hair made a striking contrast to his neatly braided and beaded beard.  
‘You want something from me?’ asked Halfdan roughly, looking at Eivor and his brother as if they were his enemies and not his guests.  
‘My brother and I want to order something to eat,’ Eivor replied, by now straining to remain friendly. Was there anyone at all in this brewery who did his job halfway decently?  
The man’s expression brightened.  
‘Sure,’ he said in a surprisingly friendly and soft voice, ‘What will it be?’  
Eivor looked to Sigurd to let him go first, but the latter only nodded at him and gestured for him to order first.  
‘I’ll have the bread with fried egg and ham,’ Eivor ordered, pointing on the menu.  
Halfdan just shook his head.  
‘You don’t want that,’ said the man. ‘Unless you’re into burnt fried eggs.’  
Eivor raised his eyebrows in astonishment. This Halfdan seemed surprisingly honest when he advised against his own food.  
‘The beans with bacon then,’ he voiced his second choice.  
‘I hope you like the beans cold and the bacon raw,’ Halfdan replied.  
‘Spit roast with fried potatoes?’ asked Eivor, hoping to make a good choice.  
‘Sure,’ Halfdan said, ‘However, you should know that our cook boils the potatoes before frying them.’  
Eivor looked at Halfdan in amazement. That was how he always did it at home, with leftovers from the day before. ‘Is that bad?’  
‘You don’t do that,’ Halfdan said. ‘Real fried potatoes you fry raw.’  
Eivor let his eyes wander over the menu again.  
‘Then I’ll have the meatball with mustard,’ he said, hoping that he had finally made the right choice.  
It surprised him little that Halfdan suddenly leaned down to him and brought his face close to his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, Eivor perceived Sigurd fighting against laughing out loud.  
‘I think Faravid wants to poison me with his meatballs,’ the bearded giant whispered conspiratorially.  
Eivor gulped as his brother snorted loudly.  
Halfdan straightened up again.  
‘The pup really can’t make up his mind,’ he said to Sigurd, shaking his head. ‘Same as always for you, Siggi?’  
Sigurd just nodded and grinned. ‘Of course. And for Eivor, too.’  
‘Aye,’ Halfdan saluted jokingly to Sigurd and then winked at Eivor before heading back towards the bar.  
Eivor took a deep breath. Then he looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow. ‘Siggi?’  
Sigurd just shrugged his shoulders in reply and unlocked his phone again, then leaned over to Eivor.  
‘Let’s take a picture for Randvi and show her what she’s missing,’ he said, putting his arm around Eivor’s shoulder and grinning broadly.

An eternity and several glasses of beer later, the first waiter brought two plates of a steaming - but for Eivor indefinable - mass to the table.  
‘My brother says to tell you this is hot,’ he growled as he slammed the plates in front of the two men. ‘Could tell by the steam, too, but what do I know.’  
He extended his arm towards the counter and gave his brother the middle finger. He then winked at Eivor and disappeared between the now crowded tables.  
Eivor fished a fork out of the stone jug with cutlery in the middle of the table and inspected the food suspiciously. He recognised stewed onion rings, mashed potatoes and what looked like applesauce, only with the indefinable, red-black, crumbly mass he had no idea what to make of it.  
‘You can eat the black pudding,’ a voice he didn’t know suddenly said, while a tall shadow sat down at their table to Eivor’s right.  
Eivor looked up and saw a man who reminded him strongly of the barman, Halfdan. Tall, muscular, dark-haired, but in contrast to the barman, this man wore his beard short and his long hair, shaved off at the sides, tied into a neat braid.  
‘Ubba Ragnarsson, you’re late,’ Sigurd said, grinning as he kicked his brother in the shin.  
Eivor winced in pain as he realised he had been staring open-mouthed at the stranger - Ubba - all this time. He felt his cheeks begin to glow and he blushed like a schoolgirl. If even his brother had noticed, it must have been very obvious.  
‘You know that shrew I was telling you about the other day. Called me at closing time and wanted something supposedly urgent,’ Ubba told Sigurd as he rubbed his temples with one hand.  
‘Tonna something?’ asked Sigurd as he kicked Eivor’s shin again and gestured him to eat at last.  
Ubba nodded and watched Eivor unabashedly as he carefully tasted some of the black pudding.  
‘It tastes best when you eat a little of everything at the same time,’ he said, smiling at Eivor. ‘There are few things better.’  
Eivor swallowed the bite and smiled back before following Ubba’s suggestion. Since when was he so nervous around another man?  
‘Well?’ asked Ubba.  
Eivor nodded. ‘Together is really good.’  
It wasn’t even a lie. Individually, the black pudding tasted strange and it was a little dry, but together with the other components it made a good meal.  
‘And now have a sip of beer,’ Ubba said. ‘Speaking of beer ... be right back.’  
He pushed his chair back across the old wooden floor with a loud creak, picked up his jacket and backpack and disappeared towards the bar.  
Sigurd leaned back, spread his arms across the back of the bench and crossed his legs loosely.  
‘Impressive guy, isn’t he?’ asked Sigurd after a while, grinning at Eivor. ‘Win his heart and you’ll be set for life, brother.’  
Eivor, who had just taken a sip of his beer, promptly choked and spat half the contents across the table, coughing loudly. What had Sigurd said? He must have misheard.  
Suddenly a hand tapped him firmly between the shoulder blades.  
While wiping the rest of the beer from his beard with the back of his hand, he looked up and looked directly into friendly eyes.  
‘Are you okay?’ asked Ubba.  
Eivor nodded and tried to blink away the tears in his eyes.  
In the meantime, Ubba had changed his suit for a simple pair of jeans and a tight black T-shirt, which only accentuated his muscular upper arms. On his wrists he wore several leather bracelets that looked variously worn. Memories of events, Eivor surmised.  
‘Did I miss something?’ asked Ubba, sitting back down at the table. In front of him was a plate full of what looked like scraped together leftovers from the kitchen. But before either of the brothers could answer anything, Ubba had turned around again.  
‘Ivaaaarr!’ he roared across the brewery. Then he looked at Sigurd and sighed. ‘He doesn’t think much of work today, does he?’  
Sigurd just shook his head and took the last sip from his glass. ‘When does he ever?’  
Ubba shrugged and sighed as he shook his head.  
Eivor looked from one man to the other. It was clear that both spent their evenings here more often.  
‘I had just told Eivor to try and get your attention,’ Sigurd said. ‘That might fit quite well.’  
Ubba raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’  
He winked at Eivor before calling out once more to said Ivarr.  
‘I told you about Eivor’s start-up the other day,’ Sigurd continued, not bothered by the amused looks his brother and Ubba gave each other. ‘You said you wanted to invest in something with a promising future. So I thought I’d bring the little one along so you two could get to know each other better and maybe come together.’  
Eivor averted his eyes sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck nervously. The images his brother’s choice of words conjured up in his mind would certainly no longer be given teenage approval rating. Just the thought of being with this handsome, muscular man next to him... . No, he shook his head. He shouldn’t even be thinking about such things, especially not here.  
‘Actually,’ Eivor replied, his head red, ‘the start-up was my friend Gunnar’s idea. He’s the managing director, I’m just a partner.’  
Suddenly Eivor felt a hand on his knee, which he seemed to have been bobbing nervously for some time. He glanced at Ubba and swallowed. The look the man gave him was sympathetic at first glance, but the longer Eivor looked at him, the more he thought he detected something different, more primal in it.  
‘Here. Beer, beer and ... water.’ The waiter who had served them first collected the empty glasses and slammed new, full ones in front of them - he demonstratively placed the water glass in front of Ubba. Then he pulled Eivor’s beer mat closer, which by now was richly painted with lines, scribbled two new lines on it and was about to write a number on it when Ubba cleared his throat.  
‘Ivarr, that’s definitely not going on our customers’ mats,’ he said firmly and looked at the waiter with a stern expression.  
But the man only rolled his eyes and groaned in annoyance.  
‘Ivarr, write everything down. Ivarr, don’t write anything down. What do you want?’ he grumbled exaggeratedly theatrically.  
‘For you to do your job properly instead of sitting in the office and playing games?’ suggested Ubba with an annoyed, ice-cold smile.  
In reply, Ivarr stuck his middle finger almost in his face. Then he turned to disappear between the tables again.  
‘Drink quickly,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘Halfdan has his “headache” again and I’m about to run out of beer. You can forget about me bartending today.’  
Ubba sighed, looked apologetically at Eivor and withdrew his hand from his knee. This Ivarr suddenly became much less likeable to Eivor.  
He watched Ubba empty his water in two large gulps, stand up and pull a pen from his trouser pocket. He took a new beer mat from the stack and wrote a sequence of numbers on it. He then pushed the beer mat towards Eivor with another wink.  
Under the phone number, Eivor recognised a scrawled 'Ubba' and three x’s next to it.  
‘Nice to have made your acquaintance, Eivor,’ Ubba said and then turned to Sigurd. ‘See you in the office tomorrow, Styrbjörnsson!’


	2. Glad to get a message from you. :)

With a loud groan, Eivor threw his mobile phone on the bed and started pacing his room while running his hands through his hair. It surely couldn’t be that difficult to send a text message. And yet he had spent the last two hours typing lines only to delete them afterwards.  
Frustrated, he kicked his backpack, which was lying next to the bed, into the corner next to the desk – or at least he tried to. Instead, he hit the floor lamp, which immediately fell over and broke with a loud clatter.  
Not even ten seconds later there was a knock at the door and his brother entered the room without waiting.  
‘Everything alright with you?’ asked Sigurd, immediately helping to pick up the broken pieces.  
Eivor nodded first, only to shake his head and shrug his shoulders afterwards.  
Sigurd sighed.  
‘Coffee?’ he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he walked out of the room.  
Eivor gathered up the remaining shards before following his brother into the kitchen to dig the hand brush out from under the sink. In the meantime, Sigurd had already prepared the coffee and was in the process of frothing the milk.  
‘Hurry up!’ he called after Eivor.  
‘You need a little more time for your artwork anyway!’ returned Eivor and had to smile. Ever since Randvi had dragged him to that barista course a fortnight ago, there had been no normal coffee made by Sigurd. It resembled an obsession that was unparalleled.  
He quickly swept up the remains of the lamp debacle before heading back to the kitchen where a freshly brewed cappuccino already awaited him.  
‘Nice peacock feather,’ he remarked, pointing to the pattern in his cup.  
‘That’s a tulip,’ Sigurd returned. ‘A peacock feather has an eye.’  
Eivor just shrugged, but had to grin as he took his first sip.  
‘Feather or flower, I can get used to this,’ he said and settled down on one of the bar stools.  
Sigurd laughed briefly and then leaned over the countertop towards Eivor.  
‘So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ he asked, looking insistently at his little brother.  
Eivor rolled his eyes.  
‘Nothing,’ he replied, ‘at least nothing of importance.’  
‘Some woman you haven’t told me about?’ Sigurd began to grin broadly as Eivor blushed instead of answering. ‘Come on brother, tell me. Who is she? Do I know her? What does she look like?’  
‘Sigurd, I–’  
A sudden rumbling and cursing from the direction of the flat hallway fortunately interrupted their conversation and a short time later a sweaty Randvi entered the living room. In her hand she held a bulging bag from a bakery, which she tossed uncharitably onto the kitchen counter.  
‘Breakfast, boys,’ she gasped, still a little out of breath.  
She sat down next to Eivor on one of the bar stools, took out her headphones and a moment later picked up a coffee freshly made by Sigurd – decorated with a heart, of course.  
‘Thank you darling,’ she said and blew him a kiss. Then she looked at Eivor suspiciously. ‘To what do I owe the honour of seeing the little raven so early in the morning?’  
Eivor rolled his eyes demonstratively.  
‘I am not the little–’  
‘Eivor is in love,’ Sigurd interrupted him immediately, ignoring the groan Eivor made. From one of the kitchen cupboards he fished out a large plate and decanted the contents of the bag. Freshly baked Berliners, it looked like.  
‘I’m not in love!’ objected Eivor immediately, grabbing a pastry.  
Randvi chuckled out loud.  
‘You do realise that’s exactly what people in love say when you ask them if they’re in love?’ She licked the milk froth from her upper lip. ‘So who is she and how can we help you?’  
She reached for one of the Berliners and bit into it. Immediately the jam spilled out and dripped onto her chin, which didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.  
Eivor handed her a sheet of paper towel.  
‘I’m honestly not in love,’ he said emphatically.  
Sigurd raised an eyebrow. ‘Then why are you up so early smashing your furniture?’  
Eivor looked at his brother in disbelief. These were symptoms of infatuation, in his opinion?  
‘The lamp thing was an accident,’ he said. ‘And I’m up so early because I wanted to write to Ubba before I forget later.’  
He licked the remaining sugar off his hands. Randvi really needed to tell him the address of the bakery.  
‘Ubba?’ Randvi suddenly looked very interested and straightened up bolt upright. ‘Sigurd’s colleague Ubba? As in “the tall, friendly and incredibly hot guy”?’  
Exactly the Ubba, Eivor thought and couldn’t help but grin. With a lot of effort he tried to put on a neutral expression again, hoping no one had noticed. But judging by the sudden pain on his shin, Randvi had noticed.  
Eivor gave her a warning look out of the corner of his eye.  
‘Sigurd thinks he might be interested in the Ravensforge,’ he said as neutrally as possible, and saw Randvi immediately raise an eyebrow.  
‘Just in the forge or in the raven as well?’ she asked pointedly.  
Eivor only blushed further.  
‘I thought I’d get the two of them together sometime,’ Sigurd said with his mouth full. ‘Ubba sounded quite interested when I told him about Eivor’s project. You know that–’  
Suddenly Sigurd pulled out his mobile and became frantic.  
‘Shit, I’ve got to go. Dag is waiting for me downstairs. Just write to him, Eivor. He’s a nice guy.’ He walked around the counter and gave Randvi a kiss. ‘I love you, honey.’  
With those words he stormed into the hallway and moments later they both heard the door slam shut.  
Not a second later Randvi turned back to Eivor and grinned broadly at him.  
‘Ubba’s hot, isn’t he?’ she asked.  
Eivor put his face in his hands and shook his head. His skin seemed to be burning by now.  
‘Yes, he is,’ he murmured. ‘But it’s really just about the forge. Nothing more, okay?’  
Randvi just laughed as she stood up and walked towards the bathroom.  
‘Sure,’ she said, ‘You’re clearly only interested in him professionally. Just like I only think about Sigurd in bed.’  
Before Eivor could say anything back, she had disappeared behind the door, only to open it again a short time later and poke her head through.  
‘Just write him “hello”,’ she said, ‘the rest will take care of itself.’

Ten minutes later, after cleaning up the mess in the kitchen and eating another Berliner, Eivor threw himself on his bed and reached for his mobile phone. Randvi was right, it wasn’t that difficult to send a message. Besides, it was only about the startup and not about a date. Not that the startup wasn’t important, but Eivor found it easier to talk to someone about work than about personal things. Especially if you wanted the person to still like you afterwards.  
He unlocked the device and stared at the screen for a few minutes. The messaging app was still open and yawning emptiness gazed back at him. Hesitantly, he typed the first few words, only to delete them immediately and replace them with others, which he also deleted again. Finally, he took a deep breath and followed Randvi’s advice. With his eyes closed, he pressed “send” and the familiar whooshing sound of words being sent rang out.

**Hello.**

He stared at the screen for a moment before sending another message after it. It was too late to back out now anyway.

**Eivor here.**

Was that enough? What if Ubba didn’t remember his name?

**Sigurd Styrbjörn’s brother.**

He quickly locked the device and threw it onto the pillow. Then he pressed his face into the soft textile. Shouldn’t he perhaps have written something else? Something more professional?  
Not a minute later, his mobile vibrated briefly. A new message?  
He unlocked the device and was a little disappointed to see only an email notification. What had he actually expected? Ubba was surely long at work and had more important things to do than write to Eivor.  
Just as he was about to lock the device again, he spotted three animated dots at the bottom of the screen. And shortly afterwards a message appeared.

_Hej Eivor, glad to get a message from you. :)_

Eivor had to smile involuntarily. He was pleased that he was writing. He must mean it, otherwise he wouldn’t put an emoticon behind it. Would he? But what did one reply to such a message? What sounded nice, but not too nice, and at the same time professional, but not too professional?

**Me too. ;)**

Immediately after sending the message, Eivor slapped his forehead with his palm. Of all the possibilities, he had probably chosen the dumbest one. And then with a winking emoticon, too. Ubba probably had to think of him as an idiot by now if he hadn’t already.

**I mean, it’s nice that we’re in touch. Sigurd said that you might be interested in me.**

Send.

**I mean in my startup.**

He was definitely an idiot.

**Not in me. :)**

**Sorry, I’m kind of married to work. Haha.**

**And I’m lousy at writing messages.**

He glanced at the string of messages. He could probably now finally forget that Ubba thought he was professional. He could probably forget about any contact with him now.  
‘Think first, send later,’ he whispered to himself.  
Then he rolled onto his back, pressed his pillow to his face and screamed in frustration. What was wrong with him, please, that he was acting so stupidly? Normally he had no problems making contacts. Not even if they had an attractive face. Or muscular upper arms. Or an incredibly nice butt.  
The gentle vibration of his mobile phone luckily snapped him out of his thoughts before they reached other parts of his body.

_XD_

_Would you rather we meet and talk then?_

_Today at noon?_

**I’d love to.**

_Around 1pm? I know a good Italian restaurant._

**Sounds perfect. Where do I go?**

_I’ll text you the address later._

_Gotta get back to work._

_See you later. xx_

Eivor stared in disbelief at the chat history and even more disbelievingly at the last message. He would indeed meet with Ubba later. Why had he hesitated? Slowly he scrolled up the history and read his own messages – and saw the answer: because he was an idiot. How could he write such things?  
On the other hand, Ubba didn’t seem to mind, otherwise he wouldn’t want to meet him, would he? Besides, he had ended his last message with two x’s. You certainly didn’t do that if you didn’t really feel you wanted to meet someone. On the other hand, you didn’t do that when you were writing to a business contact either. But maybe he just wanted to show how relaxed he was?  
Eivor sighed. Whatever it was, he shouldn’t read too much into it and rather keep a cool head. Ubba wanted to talk business with him. Nothing more, nothing less.  
He would just put on something decent, professional, and talk like a sensible adult to a potential business partner. Carefully, he smelled his armpits. And maybe he should take a shower first.  
Quickly he jumped up and ran to the bathroom, which was still blocked by his brother’s girlfriend.  
‘Randvi?’ he called, knocking on the door. ‘Hurry up, I have to shower too.’  
Less than two seconds later he was face to face with a wet Randvi wrapped in a short towel.  
‘You can come in, I just have to get ready,’ she said, taking a step to the side. ’The shower is free.’  
Eivor just looked at her in disbelief.  
‘What?’ she just shrugged. ‘Like I’ve never seen you naked before. Believe me, your drunken self cares a lot less about clothes than either of us likes.’

Less than an hour later, Eivor sat freshly showered and with a trimmed beard – no Randvi, it’s not a date – on the tram to the Ravensforge. If all went according to plan, he still had three hours before he had to make his way to the agreed meeting point. Hopefully enough time for his pulse to calm down and for him to convince himself that it was just a business lunch.  
He got off at the usual station and walked through the old industrial area until he reached the building where the Ravensforge was located. Barely had he opened the door when he already heard Gunnar humming merrily to himself. Eivor had to smile. Gunnar probably didn’t even know the meaning of bad mood, let alone that he had ever experienced it.  
‘Eivor, come here,’ he called at the sight of his colleague and friend, spreading his arms.  
Eivor didn’t need to be asked twice, threw his backpack next to the door and hugged his friend.  
‘You’re in a good mood, Gunnar,’ he said, gasping for breath. One day Gunnar would accidentally break all his ribs. ‘Have your orders arrived?’  
Gunnar let go of Eivor and laughed. Then pointed to all sorts of tools and nondescript metal parts in front of him.  
‘Every single part is there. Every one!’ He held a small metal thing in front of Eivor’s face, which Eivor could do absolutely nothing with. ‘Now I can really get started.’  
Eivor laughed and patted him on the shoulder.  
‘You’ve been waiting for this thingy in particular for so long,’ he said jokingly, but Gunnar nodded excitedly in agreement.  
Still laughing, Eivor picked up his backpack and took it to his desk. He then started his laptop.  
Update is being installed.  
Groaning loudly, he shuffled up the stairs to the gallery where the small kitchen was located and tried a sip of Gunnar’s coffee; and immediately spat it out again. Chewing the beans straight was probably milder than the coffee concentrate he had in his cup.  
‘Security update?’ called Gunnar up from downstairs.  
‘Third one this month,’ Eivor returned, annoyed, as he dumped the rest of Gunnar’s brew down the drain and rinsed out the pot. He wasn’t Sigurd, but at least his coffee wouldn’t kill anyone.  
A glance into the used filter also told him why it tasted so extreme. Who, please, filled the filter bag to the brim?  
‘Say, Gunnar, do we have some workpieces I could borrow?’ asked Eivor, leaning over the railing to look at his friend.  
‘Sure. Why the sudden interest in my blacksmithing?’ asked the blacksmith.  
‘I’m meeting with a potential business partner later,’ Eivor replied, unable to suppress a grin. ‘I thought if I brought him something to touch, he’d have a better idea of what we do.’  
He went back to the counter and filled two mugs with the new coffee before heading back down the stairs.  
There, Eivor placed one of the two cups on the only free spot on Gunnar’s desk, the other remained in his hand. He leaned against the steel column supporting the gallery and let his gaze wander around the room. In the one month he had been living in Mercia, the Ravensforge had become a second home to him and he loved everything about it. From the gallery with the small kitchen, to his desk by the window overlooking the courtyard with the small garden they shared with the surrounding offices, to Gunnar’s workspace that was half office, half workshop.  
‘I’ll pack you some of my best work too,’ Gunnar said proudly. ‘Where did you find a potential business partner so suddenly?’  
‘Sigurd,’ Eivor answered bluntly. ‘A colleague of his seems to be interested. I don’t think it will be a big investment, but it might help us over the next few months. If it works out.’  
Gunnar laughed. He took his cup and put his hand on Eivor’s shoulder. ‘Eivor, if it is you doing the talking, I don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine.’  
‘You do realise that this is actually your job? It’s your forge.’ Eivor grinned at his friend.  
‘Our forge, Eivor,’ Gunnar countered gently, ‘you’re the raven, I’m the forge. Don’t forget that. And if I were doing the negotiating, I’d probably give the place away. You know me.’  
Gunnar laughed heartily and Eivor joined in. His friend was right. He was a good blacksmith, but a miserable businessman. One smile and his big heart would turn as soft as butter.  
‘Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,’ Eivor said. He patted his friend on the shoulder and went to his desk. Finally the stupid laptop had booted up. ‘I’ll quickly fix that one bug and merge the branches. Then I can deploy the current version of the prototype to the test server and save it locally for backup. What do you think? If you then pack me the workpieces and a few of your finished works, I should have everything I need to convince him.’  
‘You know I didn’t understand a word you said, right? Except pack workpieces.’ Gunnar laughed out loud and began rummaging through his things. ‘But I’m pretty sure you’ll convince that guy.’  
‘I hope so,’ Eivor said and set to work, grinning broadly.


End file.
